


Same Single Bed

by GretchenSinister



Series: My Top 5 Bennefrost Fics [1]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21980698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretchenSinister/pseuds/GretchenSinister
Summary: Original Prompt "Jamie’s growing up, but that doesn’t mean he’s stopped believing. One winter, when he’s about 16, he takes a walk, and (as he was hoping) runs into Jack. Jack’s a little surprised that Jamie can still see him, but he’s very pleased and decides the two of them can have lots of fun. They spend the day together, and afterwards, Jamie confesses he has a bit of a crush on Jack.Cue the two of them proceeding with blushy, heart-felt kissing/lovemaking. Bonus points if one or both of them are virgins and aren’t quite sure what to do."Guys, mortal/immortal pairings are so sad. Getting lyrical for my first attempt at Bennefrost. Also I think I really like this pair? Didn’t realize it until I tried writing it.
Relationships: Jamie Bennett/Jack Frost
Series: My Top 5 Bennefrost Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582294
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22
Collections: Bennefrost Short Fics





	Same Single Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr on 5/1/2013.

“Each question leads to an iceburn,

a snownova, a single bed spinning in space.”—from “Why is the Color of Snow” by Brenda Shaughnessy

* * *

He sees him again, and he’s surprised. He’s surprised he still believes in him. He’s surprised he still recognizes him. He’s older now. And he walks closer and closer and he smiles not like the crescent moon and not like freshly fallen snow and not like marble, not like anything but a human smile, teeth half a shade off white surrounded by the living pink, and when he stops he is close enough that he can tell they are now

exactly

the

same

height.

“I missed you,” he says.

“I knew you’d be here,” he says.

“Come to the lake,” he says.

It’s not even December yet but Burgess has always been a cold town and when there’s ice on this lake it’s safe to walk on. No one asks why until they leave the town, and not everyone who leaves the town asks. They only ask if they’re never coming back, even if they don’t know it yet. It’s not something anyone does on purpose, but it’s as unchangeable as the laws of thermodynamics.

He wears skates, and he goes barefoot.

He watches him slip over the ice unconscious of what he does, watches him buoyed by the wind, watches the fernlike patterns that bloom from wherever his skin touches, watches the way he laughs and he is laughter, he is winter, he is the smell of snow and the glitter in the sunlight and the blue shadows and when necessary he is the gale and the blizzard and the hundred-pound icicle waiting to fall from the eaves. When he met him he hadn’t realized how inhuman he was. Maybe because he didn’t know it then either. Maybe he still doesn’t know it. It doesn’t change what he wants.

He watches him slide over the ice unconscious of what he does, watches him move with that peculiar almost-falling grace of those who are changing from one being to another, watches his breath steam in the air, watches carnation-red bloom on his cheeks in defiance of the cold, watches how he moves so newly strong as to be indestructible, so unfinished still as to be fragile as the ice on the lakes that aren’t this lake, and he is so temporary, so impermanent, his time can no more be stopped than he could stop the wind. When he met him he hadn’t realized how brief his life would be. Maybe because he didn’t know it then either. Maybe he still doesn’t know it. It doesn’t change what he wants.

“You should get home,” he says.

“You should come with me,” he says.

“Can you love me?” he asks. “I love you,” he says.

“Do you love me?” he asks. “I love you,” he says.

They drift down to the covers like those snowflakes that cling together on almost-too-warm-days. 

“I don’t know…” they say, and one laughs like a boy and the other laughs like the joy of the second dawn that ever was but they both kiss like boys and his cheeks are not like carnations anymore, they are like nothing but flesh and blood alive, alive-o, and his cheeks are like that too and again he is surprised, he does not usually think of himself as alive. 

But yes they are both very much alive and though they know little more than to offer their hands to the other just as they do to themselves (oh they have more ideas but how long will he be here to kiss how long will he be here to kiss?) they both are getting what they want to get and what is more they are both giving what they want to give and it is not until after Jack cries 

“Jamie!”

and Jamie cries

“Jack!”

that they realize they are in the

same

single

bed

where they got and gave a different kind of love, a different kind that will always linger between them like the sound of the first snowfall of winter, a different kind that grew into this kind, all those years ago.


End file.
